


The King's Throne

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:52:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon!Dean wants to have sex on Crowley’s throne just to screw with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Throne

You weren’t really paying attention to where you were going, who the hell could pay attention to anything other than the gorgeous specimen of a man leading you down the dimly lit corridor. You were about to ask why it seemed like everything was awash in red, why everything looked like it was the color of blood, but then he was pushing you against the wall, his hand beneath your skirt, the taste of whiskey on his lips, and you completely forgot whatever it was you were going to say.

You’d met Dean in the bar about a week ago and the two of you had hit it off immediately, as well as two people looking for a mutually beneficial, sex-only relationship could, anyway. He was attractive, very attractive, kind of rough around the edges, and just a little bit scary, but Jesus, he was a _god_ in bed and that man’s mouth could do things to you that you hadn’t even imagined were possible.

Dean twisted his fingers in your underwear and roughly pushed them down, forcing you to leave them lying in the middle of the hallway as he pulled you after him. He shoved open the double doors at the end of the hall, yanking at your clothes before you were even all the way inside. He walked backwards across the room, peeling off your shirt and bra, leaving you naked except for your skirt.

He released you and climbed several steps onto a wide platform with what could only be described as a throne sitting on it. Dean sat down, smirked and crooked his finger, gesturing at you to join him.

You glanced around nervously. “Where are we?” you asked, hugging yourself, covering your nakedness with your arms.

The room was just as dimly lit as the hallway, despite the lights hanging from the ceiling. It seemed that no matter how many lights were burning, they couldn’t penetrate the darkness inside. There were high backed chairs scattered about, uncomfortable wooden chairs that no one would ever choose to sit on. There was an odd smell permeating everything, a hint of rotten eggs and an underlying stench you couldn’t quite place. It was creepy.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean growled, drawing your attention back to him. “Get your ass up here.”

The tone of his voice left no room for argument, so you hurried up the steps to stand in front of him. You reached for the skirt, prepared to push it off, but he caught your wrists in one large hand and stopped you.

“Leave it on,” he ordered.

You nodded, unable to argue with him. He tugged you forward until you were in his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. He put your hands on either side of him, on the arms of the throne, holding them in place.

“Keep your hands right there,” Dean said. “Do not move them until I let you.”

“O...okay,” you stammered.

Rough, calloused hands settled on your waist, holding you in place. Dean leaned forward and caught your bottom lip between his teeth, biting it, then sucking it gently. He ran his hand up and down your side, finally settling it on your breast, plucking and twisting at the nipple with his fingers. He kissed a line along your jaw to your ear, nipping at the lobe.

“I need you to be very quiet, Y/N,” he whispered, his lips pressed to your ear. “You cannot make a sound. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, afraid to speak for fear that he would stop, that the hand now sliding down your stomach to rub at the silken folds of skin surrounding your sex would stop, or the sinfully full lips kissing a hot, wet trail down your neck and across your shoulders would stop.

“Are you wet for me, Y/N?” Dean growled. His finger slid between the lips of your pussy and you felt him smile against your neck. “Mmm, you are. I can feel it, shit, I can _smell_ it, Y/N, how much you want me.” A second finger joined the first, slowly caressing you, just barely rubbing over your wet pussy, his thumb brushing against your clit, making it practically pulse with need as he continued teasing you.

You whimpered, the sound barely discernible in the cavernous room. Dean stopped, his hand still between your legs, not moving, but, oh God, it was there and you knew that if he wanted to, he could make you come in just a matter of seconds with just those two fingers and his thumb. You glanced up at him, his eyes dark and hooded, almost black, and he fucking smirked at you. He grabbed your hair and held your head in place, forcing you to look at him.

“I said be quiet, didn’t I?” he snapped.

“Y...y...yes,” you gasped. His fingers were barely touching you, but that didn’t matter, because heat was blasting through you and you wanted to move, wanted to grind yourself against his hand until those long, thick fingers were inside you, fucking you.

And he knew. You didn’t know how or why, but he knew, because the grin on his face grew wider as he looked at you. “Do it,” Dean demanded.  

You didn’t have to be told twice. Your hips shot forward, seeking out the friction you so desperately wanted. Dean’s hand was huge and he easily cupped you, the palm of his hand pressed to your clit, his fingers splitting you open, but not quite inside you. You were gasping, holding back the moans of pleasure as you rutted against him, gyrating in his lap, your knuckles white as you gripped the throne.

“Do you like that Y/N?” he growled. “Do you want to fuck my fingers? Do you? Do you want them inside you, opening you up so you can take my cock?”

“Yes, please,” you moaned quietly.

Two of Dean’s fingers slammed into you, scissoring you open. He sucked and bit at your neck, marking you, deep purple bruises you wouldn’t be able to hide in the morning. His fingers were buried deep inside you and when he pulled them forward, hitting your sweet spot, you let out an almost obscene moan that echoed through the room.

“No more being quiet, Y/N,” he said. “I want to hear you scream.”

He did it again, pulled his fingers forward, chuckling low in the back of his throat as you came undone. As he watched you orgasm, your walls clenching around him as you came, screaming his name, he loosened his belt and undid his jeans, pulling his hard cock free. He stroked it roughly as he fucked you with his fingers, the head of it rubbing against your stomach, smearing you with pre-come.

“Condom,” he grunted. “Front pocket.”

You reached into the pocket of his jeans and yanked out the condom, ripping the foil packet open with your teeth. Dean’s fingers never stopped moving inside you, making it difficult to concentrate long enough to slide it on him.Once it was in place, he lifted you, holding you over him. Just before he lowered you onto his throbbing shaft, he pulled his fingers free.

He buried himself inside you, his huge cock filling you completely. As you watched, he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked, a pleased groan rumbling through his chest. “You taste so fucking good, Y/N” he muttered. “So good.” He smiled, leaned up and kissed you, the tang of yourself evident on his lips. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, while Dean grabbed your ass with both hands, yanking you forward, thrusting into you at the same time. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, holding on tight as he pulled your hips down to meet his, pumping wildly into you. You rode him hard, your breasts bouncing in his face as he urged you on, enticing you to move faster, to ride him harder, to _fuck_ him harder.

Dean buried his face between your breasts, biting, licking and sucking every part of your skin he could reach. His hands were tight on your ass, more bruises to come, his cock so deep inside you that his pelvic bone was pressing against your clit and it didn’t take long before you were coming unglued, falling rapidly over the edge, the orgasm pulsating through you, the slick of your juices covering Dean as you came.

You were exhausted, ready to collapse, but Dean was insatiable, slamming into you repeatedly, his feet braced against the floor as his hips snapped up to meet yours, the throne sliding several inches across the raised platform from the force of his movements. You could feel another orgasm coming, right on the heels of the first, a high keening noise escaping you as you were fucked into oblivion.

Dean’s hips jerked several times and then he was coming with a satisfied grunt. He slowly loosened the tight grip he had on your ass and pulled you down so he could kiss you, his hands tangled in your hair.

You were sprawled across his chest, trying to catch your breath, when you heard the doors behind you open. Your arms immediately flew up to cover your bare chest, though it didn’t matter, you were still naked under the skirt, Dean’s cock softening between your legs, surely visible from behind. You turned to see an attractive, older man in a black suit standing in the doorway, the look on his face one of complete exasperation and irritation. He was holding your panties by one finger and it was obvious he was not pleased to find you and Dean in such a compromising position.

“What the bloody Hell?” he yelled. “What are you doing on my throne?”

“Hey, Crowley,” Dean laughed. “I just wanted to give it a test drive. See if it could handle a Knight of Hell.” He patted the arm of the throne. “Seems fine.”

The guy named Crowley drew himself up to his full height, opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead he turned and shoved open the doors hard enough to slam them into the walls. “This isn’t over Winchester,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Oh, I know,” Dean growled, pulling you against him. His lips found your throat, his hands on your waist, his fingers drawing circles on your heated skin, flooding you with desire. “It is definitely not over.”

 


End file.
